Waiting
by datawolf39
Summary: just a little someting i wrote for after the fall. it's a fairly short take on how the boys spent their time apart. friendship but i dont mind if you wear your slash googles. T cause i'm paranoid


**A/N Hope you like it and please leave a review for me. **

Year one (John)

The nightmare that was all too real played once more in the mind of John Watson. It was as though it was in slow motion and he could see ever split second of his friend's fall from the roof of Saint Bart's. Like every night that he had that dream he woke in his bed heart hammering so hard that he was sure that it would fail at any moment.

Even though he knew that Sherlock was indeed alive, that didn't take the terror out of the dream still had so much impact because at that moment he had really believed that Sherlock was dead.

The moment that he had heard that Moriarty was found dead on the roof though he knew something was up. Despite the fact that Sherlock always complained that John saw but didn't observe he hadn't spent so much time around Sherlock without picking up certain tricks. It was obvious that Sherlock had been pressured to jump but the man was a genius despite what he or anyone else had said and he had survived it though John was still trying to work out how.

Year one (Sherlock)

Sherlock sat in the crappy motel room in loose fitting clothes that made him look bigger that he was. It was part of laying low and he was eager for it to be over. To tell the truth he missed his coat and his other clothes but most of all he missed John. Ordinary John who had somehow wormed his way into the heart which he, and others, had always denied existed.

He wished that he could have told John why he had to jump but John's safety outweighed everything including his own emotions. Shaking off that longing he looked out the window looking for the small time criminal that he hoped would lead him to a key player in the criminal web that Moriarty had set up.

Year two (John)

John was bored. It had been more than a year and Sherlock had yet to return so he was still playing the grieving but recovering friend. He had gotten a job at another hospital that did nothing to curb the appetite for excitement that Sherlock had built in him.

The saddest thing was that after all this time he was still waiting for a text to come out of nowhere telling him to return to the flat or go to a crime scene. He was just so used to it his world had revolved around Sherlock and his mysteries and the thing that was the worst about that was that he hadn't minded at all and he was desperate for the pattern to resume.

He couldn't even talk to anyone about his longings because he, and everyone else for that matter, was supposed to think that Sherlock was dead. The most exciting part of his week was going to his therapist and acting how he would if Sherlock was really dead all the while think 'what a bloody idiot'.

Year three (Sherlock)

Three years of his life dismantling the web. He couldn't quite believe that it was over. Done. Finished. He wanted to go back to John but then he began to wonder if his friend would want him back. He knew that he had hurt him Mycroft had kept tabs on John and the reports were often very depressing.

His next few days were spent a few miles outside of London pondering wither or not he should go back and then just like that he made up his mind. He was going home.

Year three (both)

John sat in his customary chair in 221B on the day that Sherlock retuned. When the man walked through the door he was reading the paper and didn't even spare a glace for him which left Sherlock in an odd place.

"Hey," John said turning the page of his paper.

Whatever Sherlock had expected this calm nonchalant John wasn't it.

"John?" he questioned wondering if his best friend had been replaced with a robot or something just as unlikely. Slowly he walked around the armchair that John was still seated in and plucked the paper right out of the other man's hands only to see the brightest smile lighting up the man's face and he couldn't help but smile back.

"So you knew," Sherlock stated as he pulled the man up and into an intense embrace that surprised both of them.

"Of course I knew," John scoffed as he pulled back. "I'm not an idiot."

"No you're not." Sherlock agreed.

John looked at him startled for a moment and then placed a hand to Sherlock's forehead and taking his pulse with the other hand. After a minute he took both hands away and smile brightly again. "Just checking," he said.

"I complement you and you check for illness," Sherlock said with mock anger. "What does that say about me?"

"That you're a bastard." John said fondly.

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The next day Sherlock and John hunted down Lestrade with help from Mycroft and walked onto the crime scene unseen by the police.

"Anderson leave now your level of idiocy is too much for me to handle after being away for so long. Donovan you don't say anything." One quick glance at the body and he continued. "It's obvious that the brother did it. Come along John we have to go test a theory so that they will have evidence." With that Sherlock grabbed his hand and they ran leaving the stunned DI and his idiot colleagues staring after them in shock.


End file.
